This One's a Fighter
by Hibanai
Summary: All Kio wants is color. Soubi is killing him slowly and methodically. Kio/Soubi but also Kio/OC in later chapters. Warning: hints of BDSM
1. Existence

AN: Slightly non-canon at the beginning. More non-canon later on as I'll introduce an OC.

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me.

Kio hates it when Soubi looks at him. Especially like that - expressionless and right through him, as if Kio is just another gray body that merely exists on the edge of Soubi's monochrome world - it breaks him down piece by piece until he doubts his colorful existence.

Coexisting with - losing existence to - Soubi is like drinking sweet, syrupy poison but Kio doesn't want to escape this slow, seductive sinking feeling. He can't find the will to when Soubi sometimes smiles at him for reasons he doesn't understand, when Soubi comes home to him hurt and needs him, when Soubi is Soubi. Kio doesn't think about how he can never look up at Soubi's eyes when he smiles, afraid of what'll be there. He's too busy basking in the attention that is his hard-won drug.

When Soubi smiles Kio has his good days, where the doubts are gone and his world is bright. But the highs don't last long and Soubi disappears without a word far too often. Mostly, the lows are all the Kio is. Even when Soubi is there, a half-glance makes it so Kio isn't and the gnawing need to exist makes itself known with a vengeance.

When this happens Kio vanishes.

But he never leaves. How can he when Soubi is everything he is?

Instead, he seeks out color, sensation, something to confirm his presence so he knows he's not invisible or a figment of his imagination. He spends early nights in bars and clubs grinding with strangers and numbing himself to nothing with rainbow drinks bought for him. They think the Chupa Chups mean he has an oral fixation, which means fun for them. Paid for, he doesn't correct them, tell them that the fruity lollipops he refuses to let them taste from his tongue are a side effect of his Soubi addiction as he goes to sleep in a different bed that night and chokes out in a strangled cry the same name he always does when he's whole for a moment, seeing stars.

Sometimes, more often than not, he wakes up to disappointment - the momentary pain and buzz of flashing colors isn't enough to bring Kio back to the world - not Soubi's world, but reality. The drinks don't burn enough and the faceless sex is just that, faceless and too close to the edge of Kio's washed out watercolor world for it to feel real.

He spends mornings after rolling Chupa Chups around the tongue piercing he got during a particularly hazy time. The steady click clack of candy against metal lulls him into a half-awake state wherein the familiar sting of a piercing gun is more pleasure than pain. For a few seconds a true smile finds its way to his face and he feels _there._ The man with the gun smiles back knowingly. A few times, he has suggested Kio get a tattoo and Kio has thought about it, but every time he's about to commit he hears a strange, compelling, voice scream no.

So come afternoon, he's painting. Skin: white, gray, blank. He needs the lack of color to go away, he needs to be colorful. He needs Soubi to see him, to notice his new piercing, so he makes his skin come to life even while he himself is fading. _Butterflies_, Kio thinks, _Soubi paints butterflies, _as he finds himself looking at delicate bits of unpainted skin that look awfully like hope. He allows himself to, for a moment, imagine Soubi exploring and tracing the nonsensical rainbow swirls on his skin. The return to reality is unwelcome as he finds himself cold, his paints dry, and his canvas blank. Assignment due in an hour, Kio ponders turning himself in, as he often does. But eyes go right through him, he knows this, and he doesn't want reaffirmation of this knowledge. Not when Soubi sits in that classroom.

It's Kio's fault really; he only paints skin that Soubi will never ask to see. He's not the one for which Soubi breathes. Kio knows this, but still he dreams and drinks and drowns in Soubi. Even as Soubi slowly pushes Kio off the edges of his world Kio can't stop holding on, for Soubi's all he can see in the fog that covers his vision.

Kio doesn't know how long he drifts for in the fog, which grows heavier and colder each time Soubi walks out the door without looking back or saying goodbye. He's on the outside looking in as he becomes a shell of who he was before Soubi. He's a little more withdrawn, softer spoken, and there are bags under his eyes from nights spent staring at unfamiliar ceilings. He's skinny from hardly eating and his skin is never unmarred. He has more piercings than he can bother to count or remember getting and should be more colorful than anyone he knows, but he doesn't feel like anything.

The Zeros notice. They look at him strangely when he returns home smelling of sex and cigarettes, the scent of cheap cologne clinging to his skin. If they looked closer they'd notice the way he walked gingerly. But they hardly care and have no words for Kio.

Kio is no stranger to pain, but he doesn't seek it. Still, he finds himself in a the hands of a sadist far too often - always before the marks the last one left have disappeared. They hurt Kio, not the same way Soubi does, they don't truly see him, and they look right through him, but they praise the pain on his skin, pay note to the piercings that adorn him. The evidences of attention are carved into him, and he doesn't care for how they got there, but every scar makes him feel a little stronger, a little more real. He finds himself tracing the rope burns on the inside of his right wrist every time Soubi looks through him as if they'll somehow confirm his existence. The only existence he confirms is that of the scars.

Then Soubi disappears for a week. At least, Kio thinks it to be a week. He wasn't present enough to truly notice. What he does notice, though, is that when Soubi returns, Ritsuka is in tow. Earless.

Kio says nothing. Like the Zeros, the ones that feel nothing, he has no words. He merely exits left, not bothering with an excuse, like Soubi. Then he disappears, like a faceless nobody. He doesn't know anymore what he does that is purely _like Kio. _The monstrous need to _be _opens its jaws and consume Kio, and he has no way to stop it. He has no control.

"I don't need control," he murmurs as he pulls a small card out of his back pocket and walks towards the address. _Not when I can find someone to control me._


	2. Oblivion

Kio walks into Oblivion, showing the bouncer who thinks he's far too young and stupid his ID: Proof he's old enough to walk through the discreet entrance in an alley that's cleaner than it should be. Proof he's old enough to put his life in the hands of a stranger; then again proof of that can be seen in the way Kio walks shattered.

There's no sign above the door with the club's name, no warning to the innocent. Kio's no innocent though, and he doesn't need a warning. The first thing that hits his dulled senses is the smell of leather and sweat. There are no cigarettes or alcohol here. The only addictions that will be fed here involve skin and flesh, men and mind games. As sketchy as the entrance is, the inside is reputable. It fits in with the theme of balance that Oblivion seems to have. The floor is evenly lit; the lights hot and blinding, the dark corners shudder inducing, but equally blinding. Where there is dominance, there is submission. Where there is pain, there is the bliss of the oblivion that the club promises. Since Kio is seeking, there must be someone waiting to be sought.

Kio is in full color, having long taken off his jacket despite the cold of the dark corner he lurks in. If he would only go into the light, his piercings and their chains would glint, his butterfly skin would shine. But what Kio wants can only be found in darkness. He wants...he wants anger, screams, force, but most of all what he wants is...something he can never have. So he'll settle for forgetting, for being forced to want something he can have.

A hand on the back his throat, his arms behind his back, a deep growl in his ear, a hard body behind his: it all happens so fast he hardly has time to react, let alone escape. Not that he wants to. "Do you have your card?" The hand on his wrists disappears as the words are spoken and Kio licks his lips in both anticipation and fear.

"Yes."

"Hand it over," the man commands, the confidence in his voice displaying that he knows Kio won't disobey. He knows Kio wants this.

It's reckless, it's stupid, but no more stupid than loving Soubi. Kio hands over the card that led him here, sealing his fate, consenting to whatever this stranger demands of him.

His captor turns the card over and squints in the darkness to read the back. "Do you know your safeword?"

"Yes." _Phoenix, but I'll never use it. I can't be reborn, no matter how good this guy thinks he is._ Kio mentally sighs, wondering if this is just a waste of time. Then he remembers he has no designs for the future, or even the present.

"Yes...?" His captor prompts.

"You haven't earned that title yet," Kio replies, knowing full well his words will cause displeasure. He feels something stir inside the fog of his mind and grasps it. He might not be reborn tonight, but this will do.

His head is jerked back as the hand that was formerly on his throat yanks his ocean-green hair. "Your safeword, boy," the Sir demands as Kio's teeth clatter.

"Don't need it," Kio replies, feeling the beginnings of excitement stir.

"I didn't ask if you did. Now, what is your safeword pretty darling?" The man moves his free hand o pull Kio closer to him and trails his hand up a painted arm, connecting the butterflies. "I won't play with you until you tell me."

"Pheonix," Kio gasps before quickly turning on the man that dares try to tame him. He probably loses a few strands of hair, but the pain is invigorating and the fog is receding, replaced with a haze of dark, swirling shades. Kio puts a hand on the large chest before him and shoves with every bit of strength his weakened state offers him. Surprise on his side, their positions have reversed: Kio has become the aggressor, the stranger the victim. "And I'm nobody's 'pretty darling,' least of all yours," he snarls, feral.

The man isn't bad to look at. He's handsome in a sense. _But he's no Soubi,_ Kio can't help but to think. His thought is proven true when the man raises his arms in forfeit before holding Kio's card out to him. "I thought you'd be sweeter. I'm not looking for blood tonight sweetie."

Kio knows his kind: the bullies, the men who like to hurt those too small and scared to fight or protest, or even use a safe word. He snatches the card back, irritated and oh, the fog is coming back and the haze of color is abandoning him.

"This one's a fighter, eh Greg?" Calls a voice that's strangely familiar but Kio doesn't know where from. He whips around - his ex-captor, Greg, is no threat - to find he doesn't recognize the owner of the voice. Not that he had expected to; it has been a long time since he has truly seen someone, and not merely just a gray, faceless nobody.

"More like a needy bitch," Greg retorts.

"Really Greg? Because from where I was watching, it looked like you were the bitch. And we both know pretty here is a sub through and through. A lot more fight than you'd expect from one that looks so frail," the newcomer remarks, his voice cutting and cruel. He walks closer and strokes Kio's cheek with a knuckle.

"'Pretty' here can speak for himself," Kio growls, turning to bite the guy's finger. _Pretentious dick._ The newcomer pulls his hand away just in time and Kio glares at him. A good little sub would cast his eyes downward, but Kio had no desire to play that part._ Red, his hair is the red of thick blood, _Kio observes as he takes stock of the prick. His almost shoulder-length hair is wavy at the front and spiked in the back. Next to the long side-swept bangs that almost covers a glowstick-green eye is a small braid, perfect for tugging. The artist in Kio can't help but appreciate the effort that has to go into such a hairstyle. Despite the pretty hairstyle, the newcomer is no twink; he's taller than Kio by at least four inches and broad-shouldered with corded muscles. In other words, the man is beautiful. Not a feminine beauty with a quiet but powerful air like Soubi. He's masculine and his presence is borderline oppressive.

"Yes, you'll do quite nicely for the night. Greg, if you'll leave us? There's a simpering boy in the lounge that you'd enjoy." Not even bothering to check and see if Greg has left, the newcomer plucks Kio's card out of his hand before the defiant sub can protest. He puts it in his back pocket without even bothering to look at it. "Phoenix, correct? You'll be needing it."

"No I won't-"

"Yes you will pretty." He pins Kio to the wall, trapping both of the sub's wrists above his head with a large hand. "I don't play nice."

"Because I'm not interested. Give me my card back," Kio finishes, lashing out with a vicious kick that his captor deftly dodges. It's a lie; it's a game, one the promises pain as a reward.

"I'll have to punish you for that. You can't say no to me." The redhead leans in and captures Kio's lips in a dominating kiss.

Kio reciprocates, opening his mouth and welcoming tongue. A second later the redhead pulls back cursing and Kio is smirking despite the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. He hadn't meant to bite quite that hard. Oh well.

"You little shit. What's your name?" The stranger scowls, his lip tinged red and speech slightly impeded. Yet, those bright green eyes are shining with amusement.

"Why?"

"So I can look your address up later and send your ashes there."

"It's only proper you introduce yourself before asking." Kio's blood is humming, and he can feel his fingers twitching with excess energy despite being held captive. He's bouncing on his feet.

"Dante. You'll be screaming it soon enough." _Such an eager puppy, this pretty one, and a fighter to boot. If only his skin wasn't so marked. Ah well, I'll enjoy making him mine nevertheless._

"Promises, promises."

"Name or I won't use my nasty whip of that backside of yours, whelp." _And what a shame that would be._

Predictably, Kio responds with a "fuck you."

"Patience, patience my pretty darling. Don't worry, I'll have you on your knees whimpering with your arse up high, cheeks hot and red, legs spread, cock hard and balls heavy, leaking, and begging for release soon enough. But you won't get it, not until you safeword. Your safeword is what'll break you, isn't it sweetie? But first you tell me your name. That is, unless, you prefer to be a pretty darling? Or maybe you'd prefer to be called 'pet'?"

Kio moans at the mental image, his cock hardening visibly under his tight jeans. The words almost break him, make him beg to submit, but the red fog in his mind is there to stay, especially when he hears Dante chuckle at his reaction. "I'm not anybody's pretty darling or pet. My name is Kio. You'll be screaming it soon enough, I'm sure."

Instead of replying, Dante presses closer to Kio, placing his thigh between Kio's legs. He uses his free hand to push up Kio's skin-tight shirt. He captures a pink nipple with his mouth and sucks hard, pinching the other with his hand. A throaty whine escapes from Kio, whose nipples harden instantly. Kio finds himself grinding against Dante's muscular thigh, unable to control his body's reactions. Dante grins, which causes him to lightly bite Kio's flesh. The resulting shiver through the sub's body is absolutely decadent.

Dante glances up and loves what he sees. His little fighter's pupils are dilated and glazed over from pleasure despite the fact that Dante was just getting started. _So sensitive._ He's trailing his hand down the back of Kio's pants when he feels a faint vibration.

"Mmm, what are you hiding here, sweet Kio?"

Kio stiffens instantly and Dante backs off , releasing him. He's practically radiating distress and his arousal is gone. This isn't part of the game. Dante studies Kio's face, looking for a hint as to what went wrong.

"Phone. Goddammit." It's a wake-up call. No matter what Kio does tonight, nothing will change. He'll go home and-

"Is it important?" Dante asks gently. The fight has drained out of his feisty fighter and he finds it disconcerting.

"I..." Kio shakes his head. "Not really." _A phone call won't change anything._

But Kio has deflated and his hand is reaching for his phone anyways. He barely catches himself in time. Kio looks up at Dante, unsure what'll happen next. The red, along with his arousal, has disappeared. He desperately wants to check his phone although he knows he shouldn't, but -

"Shhh, stop thinking," Dante whispers, embracing Kio, stroking the spot where the sub's ears would have been. Kio melts, accepting the easy command. "Let us go somewhere more suitable. Is my home acceptable?" Kio nods and Dante knows that he won't be getting the fight he'd been looking for tonight. Instead, he has gotten something much more valuable. _With just a simple command, he's in subspace. Amazing. I could do anything to him right now and he wouldn't lift a finger to stop me._

The journey is brief and Kio is following orders, Kio is being good and not thinking.

The door closes behind him. There's the click of the lock and after a quick, albeit bone-melting kiss, Kio hears Dante's voice through the haze of not-thinking. "Now for your punishment."


End file.
